


Out of the darkness of my mind, there is you

by TheUsagi1995



Series: Stories for Season/Series 12 of SPN [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Dean, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Cuddling, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Graphic Description of gunshot, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Nightmares, Other: See Story Notes, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam has Nightmares, Scared Sam, Scars, Schmoop, Season/Series 12, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUsagi1995/pseuds/TheUsagi1995
Summary: When Sam has a very vivid nightmare about his encounter with Toni Bevil, Dean is there to help him and set him free from the vice of his own mind....Set in early season 12, But no actual spoilers for once.





	Out of the darkness of my mind, there is you

**Author's Note:**

> It's late at night and I am in a middle of an exam period. This is why I have not posted anything for so long...
> 
> I have never been shot, but I have my fair share of scars due to surgeries and right now those scars are hurting and I can't sleep. I used to have nightmares and in them I was reliving the whole thing... This is what woke me up and I ended up writing this.
> 
> It is unbete'ed so please forgive me. I am having a bad night and I needed to take my mind of things...

Sam knew there was something wrong going on around him. Or maybe there was something wrong going on with him. Things were moving too fast around him, or maybe they were moving way too slowly. He honestly couldn't know for sure, because his surroundings were all blurred, edges all rounded, and corners all shadowed. There was only one distinguishable figure in Sam's line of sight, and that was none other than Lady Toni Bevil, of the British Men of Letters. Sam locked his gaze with hers and felt his heart collapsing on itself as he realized that, if she was there, standing before him, then Dean could be dead...

 

But no, no, no Dean was alive, he was alive, the bomb which was inside him had been taken out and therefor Dean was alive, he was just not by Sam's side right at that moment... Yeah, that must be it, Sam was positive of that. But on the other hand, the thought felt wrong, because Dean had promised that he would always be there, hadn't he? Sam let his eyes fall closed and darted his head from side to side, as if trying to clear his mind from the mist which had fallen upon it and was clouding Sam's judgment. “So, Sam, where is Dean?” Toni asked all of a sudden, voice cold, threatening. 

 

“Dead.” Sam's eyes flew open at the sound of his own voice. No, no, no, he wasn't dead, he wasn't dead. Sam's entire frame shuddered as he muttered that word and the young hunter felt as if his own spit was burning him, like acid. He casted a glance to the woman who was standing before him, and gasped silently, as his hazel orbs took in the gun she was pointing at him. No, no, no... The sound of the trigger being pulled echoed loud and clear in Sam's ears, making the hairs on his forearms rise. This wasn't right, Sam couldn't go through this again, not again. Wait, again? 

 

 

It was then, at the very second in which he felt the burning pain of the bullet ripping through his flesh and getting stuck deep in between the layers of his muscle, that Sam realized he knew what he was about to experience. The level of pain he was about to be in, the bone-chilling sensation of his own blood, running freely down his leg, wetting his jeans, which would as a result be dyed crimson... The sound of his own heartbeat, thumping in his ears like a drum, the smell of blood which would make itself known with every shallow breath Sam would take... God, he knew everything which was going to happen, and he couldn't stand to go through something like that again.

 

 

So he tried to move, to run away and avoid the firing bullet. But it was all futile, for his feet were pinned to the ground and his body was numb, unable to obey to Sam's wishes. Thereof, Sam was left helpless, trapped in his own body, as it was shaken to the cord and then it crumbled down, hitting the floor with a great speed. Sam gasped, a sound pained and sharp, as he felt the pain spreading like fire. And indeed, it felt as if someone had forced a piece of burning metal on, and inside his leg. Sam was no stranger to wounds and the pain that came along with them. But that was different. 

 

 

It was different, because he knew he had been through that before, thus he knew the horrors which he was bound to endure. And this time, he knew he couldn't go through them, no, he just couldn't. So, he ignored John's voice, which, despite the situation, he could hear in his mind. Yes, he could hear his father telling him to breathe through his nose, to breathe steadily. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, not this time, not anymore. So, he did the only thing he could do. He screamed. Screamed for the only person who could come to his aid.

 

 

He screamed, yet the sound was muffled and choked, blocked by the spit which had gathered in his mouth. So Sam tried again, and this time he hit his head on the cold floor, inhaled through his nose, held his breath for about two seconds and then... “DEAN!” Sam cried out, forcing all the air out of his lungs as he did so, and forcing all the veins on his neck to pop out as well. The howl which emerged from within Sam's throat was foreigner, even to his own ears, a mix of anguish, terror, despair and fear. He didn't know his vocal cords could produce such a sound, a fact which made his blood freeze within his veins. His body shuddered yet again, and Sam found himself pressing his hand onto the wound, feeling his fingers drenching with his own blood... And like that, his eyes flew open.

 

 

The hour was growing late, all the while the pile of empty beer bottles in the kitchen's bin, was rising higher. It was a clear sign that Dean Winchester was still, mostly awake, sitting in the kitchen, with a bottle of beer right next to him, and a book about the Men of Letters in front of him. It was pointless to try and stay awake any longer, Dean knew that for sure. The letters on the pages of his book were all hopping around and were surely becoming nothing more than a blur. Yet, Dean refused to follow Sam, who had retreated in Dean's room an hour ago. No, he needed to find more about the people who had put their hands on his brother, more about the people his mother had chosen, instead of her very own sons.

 

 

But it was futile, he could barely make out the objects in the room and by the time he pushed the book aside and closed it with a light thump, he wasn't so sure he would be able to walk to his room. It was in the early hours of the morning, that Dean had finally changed into more comfortable clothes and had wiggled on to the, not so small bed, and next to his brother's figure. Needless to say, he was asleep the moment he hit the pillow. The warmth of Sam's body as well as the steady beat of his heart engulfed him, keeping his nightmares at bay. He was awakened shortly after however, to the sound of an animalistic howl of his own name. 

 

 

Every nerve in his body was shaken to the cord, and the green eyed man found himself reaching for the knife he always kept under his pillow, only to abandon this course of action as soon as he realized, that there was no enemy hovering above them. Darting his head to his right, Dean blinked a couple of times in order for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Thankfully, he had left the door of the room ajar, thus light was creeping into the room from the corridor. It was that light which the older man ended up using to make out Sam's figure, which was furled almost in half. Dean gasped silently at the sight, moving his hand, letting it caress Sam's side, his touch feather-like.

 

 

Sam was on his side, with his back on his brother, his frame shaking. Dean moved upwards, sitting up, with his back on the headboard all the while his right hand found Sam's own hand, and tried to unclench Sam's fingers, which the younger man had hooked in his leg, right where the mark from Toni's gunshot was. Rolling over to his side, Dean used his body as a spoon, his chest touching Sam's sweaty back, one hand on Sam's hand, the other one right above the younger man's heart. “Shh, Sammy, shh, hey, hey, wake up baby boy, come on...” He muttered, voice soft like velvet, low and soothing, as if it was but a piece of the darkness which was surrounding them.

 

 

“I'm here Sammy, right here baby, come on, come back to me, wake up...” Dean uttered, feeling the shudder which wrecked Sam's frame at the telltale second the younger man opened his eyes, escaping the claws of his own mind. His body went stiff and he held his breath, as his brain was still caught up in that hellish nightmare and thus, was unable to give a single signal to his body. Dean remained silent as well, afraid that his voice would spook his brother out even more. “Dee...?” Sam questioned, in such a small voice that Dean felt something break inside him. His brother almost never used that nickname, save in times during which he was either hurt, or scared. And at that moment, Dean knew Sam was both of those things.

 

 

“Yeah, right here, right here baby...” He reassured, but no sooner had the words left his lips than Sam had jerked his hand away from Dean's. Dean withdrew his hand from Sam's, realizing then, that his brother didn't want anyone to touch that wound on his leg. He gritted his teeth and silently vowed to kill Toni Bevil, as soon as he would lay eyes on her. Pulling himself together the next second, Dean cleared his throat and spoke. “You're hurting?” “No, I, I didn't mean... Did I wake you up? I'm sorry-” “Hey, hey, no.” Dean said, as he maneuvered Sam, so that the younger man was lying on his back and could look Dean in the eyes. “Look at me Sam. Come on, look at me.” He said and Sam, try as he might, couldn't ignore his brother's request.

 

 

“Are you hurting?” Dean asked again, when he was sure Sam's hazed eyes were on his face. “I... No, not really. But...” The younger man whispered, trying to loosen the fingers of his own hand from his leg. “But the dream...” Sam muttered, feeling wetness in between his fingers. He had to let his eyes linger on his clenched fingers, in order for his mind to register the fact that, what he was feeling running down his leg was sweat and not blood. “God, I thought she was here again, pointing a gun at me...” Regretting his choice of words the moment he uttered them, Sam cut his brother off, before Dean could say a word. “I won't talk about it.” He stated, voice low, yet sure. “Okay.” Was all Dean replied, sounding calm. He paused then, letting his green orbs scan Sam's still shaking, sweaty frame.

 

 

“What do you need? Do you need space?” He eventually asked, but Sam seemed torn between getting up, away from the bed, and into the bathroom, and crawling onto Dean, letting him take the pain away, the only way he knew how. By making him feel loved, cherished, and oh, so very alive. He chose to go with the former option. Dean was up and by Sam's side before Sam had even tried to get up, an act which proved to be a wise one, because Sam ended up stumbling on his own feet as soon as he was upright. Hissing in pain, Sam panicked, the sound of the firing gun echoing in his ears yet again. “Sam, hey, baby boy, it's nothing, hey, come on Sam, Cas healed the wound, remember? This is all in your head.” Dean cooed, voice low, steady, yet firm.

 

 

Swallowing hard, the younger man nodded and slowly started walking towards the door, feeling Dean's gaze fixed on his tensed back. “Thanks Dean...” Sam muttered, as he paused by the threshold. The adoration in his eyes made the older man's chest ache with love. Sam went to the bathroom and took his time to regain his composure, splashing water on his face. When his breathing finally evened out, he exited the bathroom, returning in the bedroom, only to be met with the sight of new, fresh and clean sheets on the bed. “Come on, lay down Sammy.” Dean encouraged, and Sam complied almost instantly. The coolness of the sheets on his skin was a relief he much welcomed, and he relaxed, letting the sheets take the edge of the burn he was feeling on his skin, away. 

 

 

Signing deeply, Sam let his eyes flutter closed, his hair falling all over his face. A moment later, Dean's weight was added to the bed, as the hunter lay back next to Sam. Dean's left hand soon pushed the brown locks away from Sam's forehead, and the younger man found himself leaning into his brother's touch. Dean's other hand found its way to Sam's leg, but the younger hunter grabbed it with his own before it could touch the place where Toni had shot him. “I... Dean, it was... I was... The pain, I just-” “Hey, shh...” The older man muttered as his thumb caressed Sam's knuckles. “I'm sorry...” Sam uttered, voice wrecked and rough, filled with many emotions. “No, no Sammy. Never feel sorry about that, okay?” Dean said, his voice firm, but low. 

 

 

Taking Sam's hand in his own, Dean laced their fingers together and let them brush over the spot where the bullet had once been, making sure that Sam controlled the pace and the intensity of every single movement, no matter how small that movement was. “Dean...” “I'm here baby, alright? And no one is going to pass the freaking door, let alone come near you.” He assured, feeling Sam pulling his hand away from Dean's, but letting it rest on his side. Dean smiled and grabbed a small bottle from the nightstand before reclaiming his previous position.

 

 

“Dean, no offense, but I am not up to-” “This is special oil, for sore muscles, not lube. Although, I can assure you, it can serve as lube as well.” Dean explained, chuckling slightly. Coating his fingers with the oil, Dean made sure Sam was looking at him. “I would never hurt you Sammy.” He muttered, voice low. Sam smiled back at Dean, bringing his leg forwards, allowing his brother to let his callused fingers work the tensed muscles of his leg. His movements were sure, yet always gentle. His fingers were effectively undoing the knots which the older man could feel underneath his hand. “Oh, Dean...” Sam muttered, as he felt his muscles relaxing and hot blood now flowing freely, through his veins, warming his leg from the inside out.

 

 

Dean smiled and kept working, feeling the muscles of Sam's leg relaxing even more. The oil was warming and softening his touch at the same time and the older man used his thumbs to ran small circles on Sam's skin, relishing the softness of it. When he looked up at Sam, he found him fast asleep, head leaning on the side, facing Dean's pillow. The older hunter kissed his way up Sam's leg and then lied down next to him. He put the small tube on the nightstand and then let his hands tower over Sam's frame.

 

 

“You should do that more often.” Sam muttered, voice sleepy. “Oh, is that so?” Dean replied, his lips inches from Sam's. “Yeah...” The younger man mumbled, closing the distance between them, letting his lips move in sync with Dean's, in a kiss filled with passion, yet slow and tender, like Dean's touches. “Sleep, Sammy, sleep now.” Dean muttered, and the younger man complied. Dean made sure Sam was sleeping peacefully, before allowing himself to close his eyes. 

 

 

They would soon have to get up and start the day, for the world needed them. Lucifer's spawn was on the loose, and the British were a new, unknown threat. But they still had time. The sun had not yet risen, and the hour was the coldest one, the one before the dawn. But the brothers were lying in bed, limps and dreams all tangled up. Dreams now peaceful, filled with light, love and classic rock.

**Author's Note:**

> So, here it ends... Was it good, bad, or too bad? Let me know if you can!  
> Until next time,  
> Love you all,  
> Usagi


End file.
